


Freckles

by Chaotic Neutralist (abriefcandle)



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P England Wears Makeup, Advanced Capitalism, Attempted Murder, Body Image, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Français | French, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Murder, Languages, Male-Female Friendship, Oliver Kirkland Wears Makeup, Poisoning, Shunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriefcandle/pseuds/Chaotic%20Neutralist
Summary: After moving to Britain to start a new life, Lucine Dupont (OC) merely wants a quiet life in Clifford-by-the-Sea, a quaint coastal town on the border of England and Wales, but after running into the man known as Oliver Kirkland, nothing can ever be quite the same. At the very least, she's never met someone so insecure about his freckles.
Relationships: 2P England & Original Female Character, Oliver Kirkland & Original Female Character





	Freckles

Clifford-by-the-Sea sits along the western coastline of Great Britain, on the border of Wales and England, and used to be a popular tourist town. At least, it was until the deaths started occurring.

It started off as the occasional tourist going missing, but once people are dying every couple of weeks with the same MO, you know there is a real problem. Everyone knew who was responsible for these crimes, but anyone who voiced their suspicions had always mysteriously disappeared.

The police were too afraid to do anything, so the quiet town of Clifford-by-the-Sea put up with it.

It wouldn't be quiet for long.

I brushed the dirt off my hands, setting down the watering can, and picked up my cane, leaning on it. I stepped out of the beating sun and wiped my brow before stepping behind the counter.

Pembroke Apothecary is the place to go for all of your natural goods needs: flowers, shrubberies, other plants, seeds, produce, birdhouses, bird feeders, garden ornaments, makeup, bath products, herbs, spices, biscuits, pre-made recipes mixes, tea, herbal medicine, natural remedies, candles, incense, jewelry, recycled furniture, knickknacks, etc. Admittedly, most of my products I sell online, so, as per usual, the shop was empty, so I sat at the register and read «Jean Barois».

A few moments later, a short man with strawberry blond hair and sky blue eyes stepped into the store, the bell hanging above the doorway ringing. I looked up from my book.

"Hello, poppet!" The frail man—dressed in a baby pink sweater vest—skipped up to the counter.

"Bonjour, monsieur. May I help you?"

As our eyes met, he flinched and took a step back before speaking, "Do you have any flower seeds?"

"The flowers, eh?" I rose and wandered over to where I stacked the seed packets. "What type?"

"Hm, something that I could plant now and still see bloom before the year is out would be nice."

"We have some scentless mayweed seeds somewhere that should do the trick."

"I already have oxeye daisies, though. Is there anything else available?"

"There's St. Peter's wort, meadowsweet, cornflower—hm, we had the autumn hawkbit in stock?"

"Then, I'll take what you have left of the hawkbit and two of the cornflower."

"Très bien. Is there anything else with which I can help you?"

"No, thank you," he said as I rang him up at the counter. "Are you new in town?"

"Oui, I have only lived here a few days."

"My name's Oliver, Oliver Kirkland. A pleasure to meet you."

"I am called Lucine Dupont, and the pleasure is mine."

"Is that a French accent?"

"Ah, I come from Quebec."

"How refreshing."

"Merci. Here are your things. Bonne journée, monsieur."

"You, too, dear."

I didn't think I'd see Oliver ever again anytime soon. After all, he seemed to be finishing his year's gardening and probably wouldn't need my services for quite some time. Fate had other plans.

There was only one pastry shop in the entire town, but the locals seemed to go out of their way to avoid the store, even going so far as to cross the street to pass the building. I never saw any of the locals enter the shop, which was surely why I got such strange and...well, pitiful looks when I did.

"Salut? This is the bakery, oui?"

"Indeed, it is—Miss Dupont!"

"Monsieur Kirkland! We meet again."

"What can I do for you, poppet?"

"Do you have some tarts?"

"I made a few yesterday, so they're on the table over there~"

"Merci," I said, smiling brightly and heading over to said table.

The floorboards creaked as Oliver stepped out from behind the counter and tried to sneak up on me.

Humming, I selected a set of five bite-sized tarts garnished with dried fruits and immediately turned to face him. Oliver held his right hand behind his back and a brown-frosted cupcake in his left.

"Would you test-taste this? It's an...almond cupcake I'm testing, but it's missing something..." I nodded and took a bite just as a tough-looking ginger in a leather jacket and strolled into the store.

"Hey, Oliver, wh—ACK! DON'T EAT THAT!"

Er...too late? But I chuckled, immediately recognizing the flavor.

"It is too bitter, Monsieur Kirkland. The frosting needs more sugar. It is not quite... _edible_." Really, the man should know better than to attempt to poison his customers with arsenic, of all things. Then, for emphasis, I finished off the cupcake and wiped my lips. "The cake batter is excellent, however."

The two of them just stared at me.

"...I'll wait in the back of the shop," the redhead said, hopping over the counter and slinking away.

"Oh, you have biscuits, too!" I squealed, picking up a stack of biscuits from the table with the tarts. A whoosh of air rushed towards me, but I easily intercepted its source, disarming the strange Englishman. I forced him to the ground, pressing his own knife against his neck. "You are sloppy."

Oliver sighed, giggling, "I underestimated you, poppet."

"May I buy these, s'il vous plaît?" I asked, pointing to the items I wished to purchase.

"You still want to...Never mind. Just take them."

"You are sure?"

"Yes, but come back again soon~"

"Oui!"

After that, I became a regular patron of Oliver's bakery.

I clearly remember one instance when I was picking up a muffin for breakfast.

"How do you stand them, poppet?" Oliver asked, tapping his foot and making the face he makes after accidentally burning a batch of his _special_ cupcakes. He tugged on my cheeks, and I frowned.

"I do not understand."

"The freckles! They're so...embarrassing!"

I stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"W-What? It's not funny!" Oliver yelled, threatening me with a bloodstained butcher's knife.

"The freckles on the face are like the sprinkles on the cupcake; they make the cupcake less bland and more fun to eat,” I replied, gently pushing Oliver’s knife away from me.

"Really? You think so?"

I nodded, and Oliver dropped the knife, instantly glomping me. "You are my bestest friend EVER!"

Even being my one and only friend in all of Clifford-by-the-Sea, he was very strange. Some days, he'd close shop for no apparent reason. I noticed there was usually a missing person reported in the local newspaper the next day. I never questioned it; I didn't want our friendship to change.

Besides, I already knew why in the back of my mind…

"Is that all, poppet?" He asked, ringing up the biscuits I wanted.

"Oui, but you have something red on your cheek." I reached over to wipe it off for him, but he forced my hand away and wiped it off himself. I frowned at him and tilted my head, confused. "Oliver?"

"I wouldn't want you...getting dirty, poppet~"

"What was it?"

"Just a secret ingredient. I only put in my special cupcakes."

Thus, I usually ignored the unwanted attention I received from the villagers due to our friendship.

"Lord, have mercy! How is she still alive?"

"I know, right?"

"She claims they're _friends_..."

"Then is she...like him?"

"Mommy, why does that lady talk to the scary man?"

"Just keep walking, and don't stare."

I spent a lot of my free time sewing little white dolls and clothing for them before burning them in the empty lot behind the shop. It was a way from me to let go of the anger I held for people, because I listed their grievances on strips of paper and stuffed the dolls with them. None of the dolls could've possibly worked, though. I didn't have hair from the vict—er, I mean—villagers.

I didn't need their hair. Why would I need their hair? Heh…

"I can't find my keys!"

"My boyfriend broke up with me..."

"I keep tripping today."

"My dog died."

"My house got broken into."

"My side hurts."

"It must be her fault."

"There's no other explanation."

Somehow, I ended up being blamed for a lot of misfortune that had nothing to do with me. That's when I started getting the letters, the rocks thrown in my windows in the middle of the night, the graffiti calling me a "demon" and a "freak," the shop being egged, things being thrown at me as I passed people on the street, etc. It was all just harmless pranks that meant nothing to me, since I had dealt with much worse on my travels. Besides, no one knew where I lived, so nothing important ever got damaged since I didn't keep valuables in the shop. Still, it was annoying to say the least.

"Go on, I dare you!" Someone shouts from outside. Once again, I glance up from my book as a very unwilling teenager walks into the store, her friends jeering at her through the window.

"Bonjour et bienvenue to the Pembroke Apothecary! May I help you?"

"Uh...uh...um...er...W-What d-d-do you sell?" She asked with a forced smile, trembling.

"A little bit of everything, to be honest."

"Th-Then, do you have, uh, um, uh, m-makeup?"

"Oui, I do. What are you looking for specifically?"

"Uh, uh...eye shadow, p-please," she whimpered. I hobbled over to a shelf lined with cosmetics.

"What color are you looking for?"

"Wow! This green is really pretty, and it's so cheap!" Her fear faded away, and she started browsing for real, carefully examining my products. The look on her friends' faces when they realized she had completely forgotten about the dare was hilarious. Eventually, they decided to come inside as well as were also quickly enthralled by the selection. Cha-ching! Who knew teenagers could buy so much? By the end of the day, I had gained a handful of new customers and officially cleared my record.

Productive, if I do say so myself.

A few days later, Oliver dropped in, mumbling awkwardly and shifting from foot to foot.

"...Is something the matter, Oliver?" I ask, confused.

"I...um...er...heard you sell concealer," he said, blushing slightly.

"Oh, Oliver, if you want it so badly, it is on that shelf there," I chuckled, pointing.

"Thanks!" He exclaimed, grabbing a case, tossing money at me, and running out of the shop.

"...He really does not like his freckles, does he?"


End file.
